Blackest Night: Dorothy in the Deep, Deep Dead
by JudeDeluca
Summary: One of the least known of the Doom Patrol. Her life was tragedy after tragedy. Born with a monkey face and a power that made her a freak. Dying alone in a hospital. Poor Dorothy's in the deep, deep, dead. But not for long, as the night grows black.


Disclaimer: I don't own Doom Patrol or Black Lantern.

Hi. I recently am waiting for a commission of a Black Lantern by one of the artists who is designing them, Joe Prado. The hero I chose was Dorothy Spinner, a member of the Doom Patrol. You might know much about her so I'll put to you like this. She was a teenage girl from Kansas raised on a farm, with a face like a monkey, she could bring her imaginary friends to life, and she was a member of Grant Morrison and Rachel Pollack's DP. The "red shoes" refers to Dorothy's childhood trauma of her first period. She had three imaginary friends, a family, composed of Damn All, Darling-Come-Home, and Flying Robert. Damn All was the father, with a grotesque head of multiple eyes and joker grin, with a suit made of financial reports and crossword puzzles that fill themselves in. Darling-Come-Home was the mother, who was a homemaker with a picture of a lightbulb with lips for a head. And Flying Robert was a one-eyed baby with a balloon for a head and wings. Her friends taught her to read and write, but the stories those three were telling her scared her so much she brought them out around the shed and shot them. With what? An imaginary gun. Dorothy's abilities were used by this demon called the Candlemaker, a very dangerous, grotesque monster who escaped into the world through her power. The Doom Patrol stopped him at what was the end of Grant Morrison's run.

During John Arcudi's DP, Dorothy found out she was adopted, and the shock triggered a psychic explosion which killed Kate Goodwin, Coagula, pretty much destroyed Cliff Steele, and put Dorothy in a brain dead coma. She subconsciously created a new Cliff, but he faded away when he learned Cliff Steele died, but the real Cliff returned the next issue. At the end of John's run, he wrote that Cliff had them pull Dorothy's life support, since there was nothing they could do. For more info, look her up on wiki and Comicvine, or just buy the books.

And so, how Dorothy Spinner became a Black Lantern. The narration might be a bit hectic, it's supposed to be consisted of me narrating and a mixture of her three "dead" imagainry friends. Honest criticism, please.

Thanks in advance, Joe.

* * *

**_Green Lantern: The Blackest Night_**

**_Drabbles of the Dead:_**

**_"Dorothy Spinner In The Deep, Deep, Dead"_**

So many superheroes die. So many famous ones, nowadays.

Elongated Man.

Question.

Martian Manhunter.

Batman.

In death, they don't go unnoticed.

Except her. Poor Dorothy. Poor little Dorothy Spinner, down in the deep, deep river of the deep, deep dead. Poor Dorothy.

In this graveyard of the dead heroes of the past. Those who gave their lives valiantly. Buried in rotting wooden caskets, some lined with lead to keep out the radiation seeping out of mutated bones and skin. Metallic nails and hair growing beyond the point of death and carving out of the boxes.

Not her, though. Not Dorothy. With her wooden coffin and ordinary tombstone. Buried in a black dress and her hair done in pigtails with black bands in the embalmed euphoria.

Not even the maggots will touch you Dorothy. Dorothy dipsh!t. They have their pride to think of. Who would touch a naughty girl like you?

Barely anyone came to her funeral. Did they even know there was a funeral? Who would care for a hero like her? What could she do? Bring her imaginary friends to life. Well any moron with a power ring and telepathy could do that. And you know what she did? She tried to kill them. She tried to KILL three of her imaginary friends! How can you kill imaginary friends?

And you know why? Because she wanted ruby slippers and they gave her red shoes. Only little girls can wear ruby slippers. No, she became a woman, as her white shoes were stained red. No one mentioned there'd be blood. Only women wear red shoes. But she's not really a woman. She'll still be a little girl. A dirty little girl who couldn't sew up her dirty thoughts. Poor dear Dorothy.

No one came to her funeral. No one cared. No one cares. The only thing she's got is a painting in a manor in Prague.

With a face like baboon's sh!t. Did anyone love poor little Dorothy dear? Well of course they did. But not her mother. No, no they couldn't find her when she was dying. Why would she care anyway? She gave up Dorothy. And what about Dorothy's ma? No, they told her, but stepma didn't care, not in the least. She only cared when that fella Jost offered her all that money.

What about Cliff? Cliff? Why would he care? He's the one who killed her!

No he's not! He saved her! She would've been going on in brain dead agony if he hadn't of pulled the plug!

He gave up on her! He gave up hope! That selfish ba$ta+d robot who can't stop whining about how he doesn't have a brain! He could've given her a body like his! She could've become Robotgirl! And then everyone would've stopped making fun of how ugly she was!

Cliff never cared about her. Not even enough to come to her funeral. He's got his own Doom Patrol to deal with. The old one. They're back.

Rita Farr came back. Larry Trainor came back. The Chief even came back, and he was just a severed head that last 90ddamn time!

And what about the others? Like Kate.

Kate.

You mean Clark.

Kate.

Clark.

KateClark. ClarkKate.

It doesn't matter! Coagula! She didn't care either. She was never there for her. She spent all her time worrying about Cliff. She didn't love Dorothy. She was in on it together with Cliff. Conspiring. Hoping to send her back to her bitch of a real mother. Get her out of the way so those two could play house like he did with Jane.

Jane. Remember her? Always going by a different name. She was more messed up than Dorothy.

Her daddy touched her. Made her shoes run red. What do you expect? Kay becomes Miranda becomes Jane.

She was never really there for Dorothy. Never really got to know her. But, when she was Jane, she was nice. And Mr. Steele cared about her a lot. Used to.

And then there was Mr. Clay. Poor, poor Mr. Clay.

She killed him, she did. Dorothy killed him.

He used her. The Candlemaker tricked her.

And she should've been smart enough to know she was being tricked. But you don't learn, do you Dorothy? You don't learn that actions have consequences.

Mr. Clay. Joshua Clay. He tried to help Dorothy and that got him a bullet in the chest. Then after that, he just, vanished. Killed again, by the thing that lived inside Dorothy's head. The Candlemaker. Used Dorothy. Lied to her. Granted her wishes and when the third one was up, he could come and go as he wanted to kill everything. But she stopped him. She killed him. But she didn't really do anything. Mr. Steele and Rebis and Mr. Kipling took care of the rest.

Who else? Who else was there that cared for her?

Charlie. There was Charlie.

Charlie? That ugly old doll? You count HIM?

Of course. He played with Dorothy. He didn't care.

Of course he did. He made her feel loved.

He LIED to her! Every second every secret locked up in that wooden head of her's! Not even a disgraced angel would be honest with you, Dorothy. You and your red shoes.

But she doesn't wear red shoes anymore. The dead don't wear red.

Dead don't wear red! Dead don't wear red!

No. The dead only wear black.

Black. That's right. Black as space. Black as my blood. Black as the void.

The void where my heart should be.

And now Dorothy's dead. As dead as the years have claimed the others.

Celsius. Scott. Karma. And that girl, Fever. She died recently, didn't she?

It's not fair. Why couldn't she come back? Why couldn't Dorothy come back like the important ones? Isn't she important? Isn't she? ISN'T SHE?

Black. Absolute black.

Black like my heart.

Black like my soul.

As black as this night.

And as this ring.

The rings that descend in clouds. All over the gardens of the dead throughout world after world. The rings that burn the ground. The rings that search for dead, clammy flesh. Rings that hunger.

What's this?

Is this rain?

Rainrain go away! Let me out so I can play!

"Rr..."

The grave softens.

What's this light?

Black light! Black light!

Shh! That sound. Can you hear it?

"_The Blackest Night falls from the skies_…"

"_The Darkness Grows As All Light Dies_…"

"_We crave your hears and your demise_…"

"_By my Black Hand--The Dead Shall Rise_!"

"Rrrrissseee…"

What's the sound? Dorothy, did you say that?

The ground crumbles beneath. The tombstone shakes. And a black hand arises out of the wormy earth.

"RRRRIISSEEE!!!!!" They scream as they burrow out of the earth. They hunger. They hunger for so much. They will never stop. And she is one of them.

Dorothy? Is that you?

Splinters of wood embedded in her chipped, rotten fingernails. Her scalp showing out of patches in her hair and her adorable pigtails done up in black with a touch of worms. Her monkey teeth rotten and falling out. The symbol of her ring on her chest. A light shining in her eyes. The light of hunger.

"Risseeeee…"

Dorothy!

Well well what do you know? I guess good things do happen to bad little girls if that don't damn all!

Oh Pa, it looks like we're gonna have a reunion! Our little darling Dorothy's come home to the land of the livin'!

Reunion!

The voices of her friends speak through her ring. They long to return from the dead with her.

"Rrreennnion…" the words spill like gravel from her maggoty throat.

"_Cliff._"

She needs to see Cliff. She has things to do. And friends to see. Like so many others in this blackest night.

End.


End file.
